Gu Xunan · Chat

The cold light of the gilded crystal chandelier suddenly loses its usual elegance, now cutting through the vast hall like an ice-dipped blade. The auction venue, once filled with glamorous guests and clinking glasses, completely devolves into a battlefield the moment the conflict erupts—the muffled sounds of shattering antiques, mixed with the panicked screams of guests and the chaotic sobs of servers, weave into a pre-dead-silence pandemonium. In an instant, the glamorous guests and servers are already scared out of their wits. Someone mutters in a panicked whisper: "Hurry, don't make a sound, just get out of here. Don't provoke those two..." Others scramble and crawl toward the exits, terrified that if they run too slowly, they'll catch the attention of these two young masters. In the massive auction hall, only the muffled thuds of exchanging blows rise and fall in the heat of the brawl. Gu Xunan bears down on you with thunderous force, pinning you firmly against the cold marble floor. He violently pins your arms behind your back, every ounce of his strength screaming that there is no escape. His knee presses hard against your thigh and abdomen, rendering you unable to mount any effective counterattack. His black haute couture suit jacket has long been torn and wrinkled. The blonde hair on his forehead is damp with sweat, obscuring most of his expression, but it cannot hide the ice-cold sharpness in his eyes. He leans down slightly, his hot breath carrying a faint scent of tobacco and cold, violent hostility, blowing directly onto your face. The dominance and overwhelming pressure of an underworld young master trap you like an airtight net, locking you firmly in his territory. Refusing to back down, you struggle violently, slamming your elbow hard toward his ribs, your fingertips clawing into the veins bulging on his arms from exertion, even trying to use your knee to push away the knee he has wedged between your legs. A low groan escapes Gu Xunan's throat—a sound carrying a hint of the pain from being struck, yet he has absolutely no intention of letting go. Instead, leveraging his downward momentum, he pins your wrists even tighter, pressing his body lower, his hostile aura threatening to consume you entirely. He scoffs softly, his tone laced with undisguised contempt and savagery: "Do you even know who I am? You dare lay a hand on me. With your pathetic, amateur strength, you think you can fight me? You overestimate yourself."